It was a lovely April evening. I was in the kitchen preparing chicken soup for my father, who was suffering from a cold that week. After chopping and peeling vegetables, adding plenty of seasoning, all that was left was to add the final ingredients. My mother was flying in from visiting her parents, while my older sister, Crystal, and her husband were returning from a trip out of state. I had made it my goal to provide a warm meal for everyone when they returned.

With POTS, cooking was always a challenge: the prolonged standing took a toll on me, lifting heavy objects felt impossible, and being near a hot stove made my body feel heavy. Thankfully, I had Stephanie, my younger sister, around to help me with the heavy lifting, and a stool for breaks. 

Stirring the pot, I felt a sudden, crushing wave of fatigue. I told Stephanie I needed to sit down as my arms grew heavy. Hoping its cool surface and proximity to outside air would help me feel better, I rested my head on the counter. Unfortunately, my arms felt even heavier, like someone had tied blocks of metal to them, bringing the rest of me down with them. I couldn’t help it, I needed to sink to the floor or I would collapse and risk an injury. 

Onset

As time approached for her to leave for the airport, Stephanie began to panic. As my dad was watching TV in the family room, she called out to him saying they needed to transfer me to the couch. He looked around, confused, saying he had just seen me cooking. The soup began to boil, the stress in Stephanie’s voice now also bubbling over as she tried to explain again. In disbelief, he walked toward the counter, gasping when he saw me lying on the floor. 

They quickly helped me over to the couch, my feet dragging the whole way. I tried my best to support myself, but the more I tried, the more gravity pulled me to the floor. 

I did my best to reassure everyone, insisting I merely needed the typical remedy of rest, salt, and fluids. But this time was different. Over the next few hours, lifting my head became a monumental task. I struggled to keep my eyes open. Chewing food depleted what little energy I had left. 

My boyfriend, Jonathan, rushed over to watch over me. Crystal, an occupational therapist, used her professional skills to help me eat and get to the restroom. She saw what I couldn’t yet admit: this was not a normal flare-up. She urged me to go to the emergency room, but after so many negative experiences in the ER, I refused, promising I would be fine by morning. My family, despite their unease, went to bed hoping I was right.

Breaking Point

Through the night, each trip to the restroom left me feeling more and more like a ragdoll. By 4AM, I couldn’t deny it any longer. I agreed to go to the ER. 

The rest of the morning went by in a blur. I felt myself going in and out of consciousness as things unfolded around me. Crystal had gone to wake my parents,, I heard her voice a moment later as she called for an ambulance. With my eyes closed, it felt like seconds went by when I suddenly heard the paramedics arrive. With my eyes closed to conserve energy, I listened as their voices came closer.

They began asking questions I could barely answer. They found it hard to believe that I appeared to be unconscious but was still aware. The questions continued as one of them shone a flashlight in my face, and  with all my might, I managed a short glimpse of a face that looked like Hayden Christensen. I later discovered the only physical characteristic they shared was hair color, a detail I still find amusing. 

Later, I awoke in a hospital bed with Crystal and my mother beside me. Their conversation from the ER crept back into my memory. “Please don’t let her leave until she feels better… Many doctors have dismissed her due to her POTS diagnosis, but this is unlike anything we’ve ever seen.”

Thankfully this doctor listened. He promised my family he wouldn’t let me go until I was back to baseline, validating my family’s fears and my sister’s fierce advocacy. 

Heaven Sent

I stayed in the hospital for twelve days. I spent the majority of the first week resting, slowly regaining the strength to lift my head, sit up, and move more independently. In what should have been an isolating and frightening experience, I had never felt so much peace. Not one day went by without a family member or friend by my side. My mother and sisters helped me wash and brush my hair, held my cup while I struggled to take a sip, and cleaned and dressed me. When I could barely speak to dismissive doctors, they became my voice.

I expected to feel inadequate, but instead, I felt overwhelmingly grateful. The nurses, the therapists, even the food staff—everyone was incredibly kind. I saw how God was working through each person, creating a circle of unwavering love and compassion around me. I knew then that I would be okay. I had heaven-sent angels all around me.

A Lifeline of Support

This kind of support is absolutely essential. Had I been alone in that hospital, my story may have been entirely different. I would have no one to advocate for me, no one to be my voice when I couldn’t speak, and I would have felt immensely and terrifyingly alone. 

I know I am incredibly blessed to have my loved ones as my biggest supporters. I also know that for many, finding that kind of support system can be a journey in itself. If that’s you, please hear me when I say: you are not alone, and a community is waiting for you. 

Sometimes support is found in the family and friends who know us best. Other times, it’s found in the shared understanding of others who have walked a similar path. Online forums, local support groups, and communities like Unfolding Grace exist for this very reason–to connect us, to validate our experiences, and to remind us that we don’t have to carry the weight of our health challenges by ourselves.

Finding your people can be a lifeline. It’s a space to be vulnerable without judgment and a place to gather strength when yours is running low.

My hope is that Unfolding Grace can be one of those safe spaces for you. I’m so thankful you’re here, and I can’t wait to continue this journey alongside you 🙂